


Peachy Keen Tarts

by SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: Based on a Waitress Song, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Lovely Wives Go To London, inspired by waitress, tiny sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/pseuds/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff
Summary: Julie lets Gill decide on her birthday treat. She has regrets, and then new understandings.
Relationships: Julie Dodson/Gill Murray
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	Peachy Keen Tarts

**Author's Note:**

> I - am not really sure what this is. Advise to listen to She Used to Be Mine before/as you read. I hope you cry in the nicest ways. 
> 
> P.S Julie Dodson loves puddings. It's the Law.

Julie has to admit that she was sceptical when Gill first suggested it. She’s seen an awful lot of awful theatre at Gill’s side, most memorably a bizarre re-working of the life and times of Elizabeth I in which everyone seemed to be a lesbian. So when the idea of spending Gill’s birthday weekend in London watching a musical (a _musical_ ) about a woman getting pregnant by her gynaecologist was floated – Jules has to admit she definitely did push for drinks at the Shard and a fancy dinner and something more steady. More tame. She should have known better – Gill is never to be tamed. Besides – you’re only fifty five once, and Gill definitely isn’t going to let her mention that fact ever again outside the protective bubble of this weekend away. So she should just let her wife enjoy it.

She ends up quite enjoying it herself, when it gets going. The cast are excellent, really giving it their all in the relatively small theatre, and the plot, though bizarre, is enough to keep her interested. The characters are _very_ American, which tends to set her teeth on edge, but they win her over in next to no time. The unassuming baking one that gets accidentally knocked up after a shag on the gynaecologist’s examination bed reminds her of Gill, though the circumstances of conception are markedly more Rachel Bailey, at least from what she’s heard whispered around the pub after work. Nobody ever _tells_ her the gossip, she’s too senior in all senses for that, so she has to pick it up of her own accord. Regardless, Jenna’s inner shy determination to achieve, her dreams of a better life for herself and her unexpected baby, away from her utterly _useless_ cruel husband, remind her of the side to Gill that only she gets to see. Plus, Gill’s a bloody good baker. Keeps her in cake, and pies, and biscuits, and what more can a woman ask for, really?

It’s normally Gill who is more easily moved by theatre, or films, but there’s a couple of moments that get to Jules herself. The pigtailed little sidekick one, utterly over-eager and obsessed with historical re-enactment, tugs at Julie’s heavily armoured heartstrings when she launches into a tirade against reckless dating, on account of the fact that one’s potential partner could well be _criminal_ , or _some sort of psychopath who escaped from an institution where they don’t have girls_. She’s laughing along with Gill at the young woman’s melodramatic musings, until Dawn digs down deeper and admits that she can’t date, in case _when he holds me, my heart is set in motion – I’m not prepared for that, I’m scared of breaking open_. All the poor little thing wants is someone who sees her, and wants to see her again, but she’s too bloody scared to reach out and grab it, and it’s enough to make her chest feel a little tight. Asthma, probably. Undiagnosed, sudden onset asthma caused by the liberally applied hairspray of the older woman in front of her. Older woman, Christ, what does she sound like? She’s a bloody older woman herself now. An older woman with a younger older woman wife, who’s gently wiggling her fingers along to the catchy songs against Jules’ arm as she sits, absolutely enraptured, her whole attention on the emotional dramas unfolding in front of her. She’s _such_ a people person, even when those people are fictional. Gill’s clearly besotted with the whole bizarre spectacle, clapping enthusiastically as someone with hand’s twice the size of hers whenever someone finishes a Momentous Solo, and cooing away at the developing romance between that Baking One and the Married Gynaecologist. Utterly bizarre. Though it is quite sweet. Sweet and Odd. She must have a type.

Gill remains mostly bright and sparkly-hearted, though she winces a little whenever the Shit Husband makes an appearance and reaches for Julie’s hand, which she’s more than happy to surrender. She actually cheers in the rapturous applause when the Feisty Best Friend finishes her solo defending her extra-marital affair, the long-awaited spark of excitement in a life of domesticity and caring responsibility, and Julie neatly chalks it up to Gill’s love for female empowerment rather than a surprise affinity for playing away. Sometimes good mistakes need making, she’s old enough to acknowledge that, and besides, that’s pretty much how the two of them ended up together. Maybe someone should do a musical about _them_. They both well up a little at the Big Romance Number, a soft little whispered duet about how _you matter to me, simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody_. It’s enough to make her want to get married, properly, with a party and everything, just so she can wrap her arms around Gill from behind in the hotel room afterwards and murmur every moment of pure saccharine delight into her little pixie ear. Gill squeezes her hand and turns to her, big eyes sparkling, just as the Male One murmurs _come out of hiding, I’m right here beside you_ and it’s – it’s a lot, as everything always is with Gill. Thankfully for Julie’s modesty and Reputation there’s a funny one next, followed up by a raucous pie-based cunnilingus scene that has Gill properly cackling, her little heeled boots tip-tapping on the floor as she wiggles her feet in delight. God, she’s addictive.

 _Promise to, as best we can, say I Do and promise that when I see you, I want to again._ Are you allowed to use someone else’s songs as your wedding vows? Who does she need to write to? Are there copyright implications? She’s beyond glad already that she allowed Gill to pick her birthday treat, it’s given her plenty to think about. And plenty of excellent memories of Gill laughing, half-hidden in the darkness of the theatre, but shining so brightly from within that Jules can see, sense, every line of her smile, those beautiful little creases between her eyebrows when she’s laughing _properly_. She really couldn’t have asked for more.

It seems like the story is starting to wrap up, and they haven’t had any proper tears yet, which is a bonus. Jules has half-stopped concentrating for a moment, focusing on the small warmth of Gill’s hand in hers, when the Baking One enters stage right and looks up into the audience, one hand protectively on what must be an uncomfortably warm fake bump. Julie has been with Gill long enough to know when a dramatic emotional revelation is coming. The woman lives her life like she’s in a soap, a calendar of pregnant pauses, big sighs, bitten lips, the godforsaken sexiest frown she’s ever seen in her life. It feels a little like watching one of those awful Sixty Seconds before Disaster shows, waiting for the woman on stage to belt whatever This is going to be out into the audience, and for Gill to suck it in, live it fully for just a few minutes, and then carry it around in her heart for at least the next week. They’d had tears for months after War Horse, and it’s still a sore spot.

Julie doesn’t _understand_ motherhood, let alone when it comes in the form of an unexpected baby after an unexpected fling. She simply can’t feel it, any of it, as much as she tries. She loves Sammy, unconditionally and absolutely, but the sheer fire she sees in Gill’s eyes, the self-sacrificial lengths she’d go to for him, that’s something she’ll never experience. She doesn’t know what this young baking lass is feeling, up there, or what she’s pretending to feel, but she manages a wry sad smile when the song opens with a comment on how _these shoes, and this apron, that place and it’s patrons, have taken more than I gave them_. She needs to hand her bloody notice in. It’s been sitting in her email draft for weeks now, a near-exact copy of Gill’s resignation email with the personal details changed enough to make it feel heartfelt, though it feels anything but. She can’t wait to be shot of the lot of them. She squeezes Gill’s hand softly, listening to her soft sniff as Jenna muses on the girl that she used to be before all this, eager and try-hard, imperfect and broken, incapable of asking for help. Messy and kind. Julie feels a corresponding tightness in her throat as Gill wraps her fingers around her wrist and just holds her, tight enough to feel but never firm enough to hurt. The sobs only come as the song builds, as Jenna realises that the baby isn’t what she asked for, not even what she _wanted_ , but maybe it’s what she needs. Jules can do nothing but stroke her own fingers against the back of her wife’s little hand and hope beyond anything that they’re going to be okay. Forever. As a forever sort of thing.

There’s no more space for thinking as Jenna really gets going, and whether it’s the sheer powerful beauty of her voice or something more relatable than she anticipated in the lyrics, Julie finds herself welling up too. A couple even slip out, before she can sniff them back in. It’s something about the idea of having another self, a self that you lost, a messed up hopeful young thing that you had to leave behind to _progress_ – she gets that, even if the baby bit is beyond her. She lets herself follow it, bathe in it, for just a moment. Gill is very clearly Feeling it too, choking down wobbly little sobs as Jenna appeals to her younger self _who’ll be reckless (just enough), who’ll get hurt but who learns how to toughen up,_ and unable to stop them sneaking out as Jenna tells how _the life that’s inside her, growing stronger each day will finally remind her, to fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes_ , _that’s been gone, but it used to be mine…_ Christ, Jules has a lot to thank Sammy for.

By the time everyone is stood and clapping (entirely deservedly) as the cast take a bow, Gill’s a wreck, using the cuffs of her soft grey jumper to dry her eyes. And her nose, a little bit, but Jules won’t say anything. ‘Little mouse’ Julie mumbles, stroking her hand over Gill’s arm and her shoulder softly, purposefully not staring at her. Why doesn’t she ever carry tissues? Thankfully for the health of the dry clean only cashmere, Gill gets it together enough to dig some tissues out of her handbag as the light come up and people start to file out. At least they came to the matinee, so she won’t have to try and encourage an emotional Gill to settle down enough to go to sleep before the early hours of the morning. If this afternoon is going to follow the typical post-theatre-trauma experience, they’ll wander around the back streets of London for a bit, then Gill will kiss her up against the wall of an alleyway somewhere and suggest they go for a drink. And Christ, she really needs one after that.

‘Sorry’ Gill mumbles thickly after a few moments, and it’s so ridiculous that Julie actually tuts out loud. ‘Stop apologising, G. It’s just about the only thing you cry at, eh? I can allow you this one little luxury, since it’s your birthday and all’ Julie teases, soothing over the sadness, enveloping Gill up in her arms like custard over pastry. It’s an awkward cuddle, what with the arm rest between them, but Gill seems grateful for the opportunity to hide her face in Julie’s neck and work through the last of the sniffles in privacy. Not that there’s anyone left to be looking at them. Literally everyone else has left, save a few staff giving them looks that Julie is well familiar with by now. The “is everything okay, Madam?” routine isn’t going to go down well with Gill at all, she’s fiercely independent even when she looks a little like a harvest mouse with a pollen allergy, so Jules gently encourages her to her feet and gathers up their stuff. ‘Thanks’ she murmurs to the young woman manning the door, and it’s more than the word itself. It’s been good for both of them, cathartic, the sort of experience that leaves you blinking in the sunlight as you step back onto the pavement. In a small way, a modest way, she’s left with a new understanding of herself, and of Gill. Besides, if one listens to the voice in one’s head that sneaks out in the dark, in the middle rows of the theatre and the back corners of the cinema, then it sounds like Julie’s going to have to not only resign, but also propose. She has plenty to be getting on with. They haven’t even had birthday tea yet. Or cake. Or pie.


End file.
